


you've got some teeth on that stare

by timorous_scribe



Category: Glee
Genre: Control Issues, F/F, Multi, Oral Sex, Power Play, Strap-Ons, Threesome - F/F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-07
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-18 11:52:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1427491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timorous_scribe/pseuds/timorous_scribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part I: Santana decides to get back at Rachel for kicking her out of the loft by sleeping with her NYADA nemesis, Cassie July. Part II: When she moves back in, Santana doesn’t tell Rachel what happened, but they both end up surprised when the truth comes out. Cracky smutty two part one-shot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This has been cooking for a long time, and i finally decided to split it in two until the second half is complete. Title is from Say Anything's By Tonight, which actually fits well enough for this story.

**Part I**

Stiletto heels click menacingly as Santana struts out of the dance studio, purse slung over her shoulder and her usual swagger further exaggerated for Brody's benefit.  _Fuck_  that guy.

"What were you doing in my studio? I haven't approved any adds to my class." The blonde's sharp tone echoes down the corridor ahead of its owner, and Santana just quirks an eyebrow—seriously, what  _is_  it with these people—before brazenly trailing her gaze up the woman's legs instead of answering.

They're toned and tanned and they stretch on forever, and though she's obviously not as young as most of the students, she's still completely stunning. Shifting green eyes narrow as the woman tries to pin Santana in place with her glare and Santana just smirks because it's almost cute this bitch thinks she can intimidate.

"That studio is for my students  _only_." She continues with the chastising as they draw closer to each other in the hallway. "The old dance-hall in the south dorms is for the rest of you to waste your time."

Santana should be able to just ignore this chick and keep walking—she's got nothing on Sue's  _best_  day—especially since she really doesn't give a fuck about where students can dance, and it's not like biting back is going to make her any less pissed off.

Except that she's already drained her self-restraint for the day by not punching Brody in his douche-tastic jaw, and she is just  _not_  equipped to put up with another self-important NYADA prick telling her where she doesn't belong. The retort is firing off before she even finishes thinking she probably shouldn't.

"Calm down, twinkle-bitch. With that kind of dazzling charm, I can't imagine _any_ one's trying to ninja their way into your strike zone."

Cassandra blinks in surprise for just a second—it's been awhile since someone has spoken to her like that—before her gaze shifts to flinty and the corners of her mouth turn up in a smile that would shrivel lesser men.

Santana Lopez, however, being neither lesser nor man, just makes a production of rolling her eyes and keeps walking past the blonde, not even slowing her stride until fingers are wrapping around her elbow.

"No, see, what you're not understanding is that  _this_  is my 'strike zone' and you've just placed yourself in the unfortunate position of ground zero." Cassie is all cocky slickness, lowering her voice to a patronizing hum as she steps forward into Santana's space without releasing the grip on her arm.

Santana looks at the hand at her elbow for a moment, then drags her gaze up to stare into mossy green questioningly. She raises her brows and gestures for Cassandra to continue before folding her arms across her chest, her fingers tucking against Cassie's grip and surprising Santana when the other woman doesn't pull them away.

"Oh—oh, I'm sorry, was that it?" Mocking exaggeration drips from her voice. "I didn't realize that was  _all;_  wow, these theatre kids really are just  _special_ , aren't they? _That_  is all it takes to keep them cowering." She tsks and shakes her head, Cassie watching the theatrics with growing amusement.

Even with the drama that comes from teaching the best (and most conceited) performers the world has to offer, she rarely is treated to such unbroken defiance so late in a semester. It's annoying and attractive in a way that irritatingly reminds her of Schwimmer.

They stare at each other in silent assessment for a few beats, neither willing to show the weakness of looking away. Cassandra breaks it with a sudden smile, tugging on Santana's arm still in her grip until the brunette cautiously lets it be pulled forward between them.

"Not a student, even better." Cassie purrs. She circles her fingers around the delicate bones of Santana's wrist before slowly pushing the sleeve of her jacket up to her elbow, exposing the tender skin of her forearm.

Santana just watches, entranced, because this woman has some gigantic brass balls and for some weird reason, it's kind of turning her on.

"Presumptuous much?" She murmurs distractedly, still observing as the blonde turns her arm in pale fingers, stroking a fingertip over the soft skin and clucking her tongue at the goosebumps that spring up.

"Nooo.. just," Cassie sing-songs softly, pausing to dig one hand into Santana's bag where it hangs at her side until, with a victorious smile, she pulls out a pen. "Confident." She taps the pen to Santana's bottom lip before clicking it to write.

"Whatever you gotta tell yourself."

Santana licks her lips (still tingling from that tiny touch) while her attitude tries to recover from the stupor this chick's somehow got her in. She obviously needs to get laid, it's been  _weeks_  since Quinn and the not-wedding and she's apparently starting to get brain damage from the lack of sex. She clears her throat what she hopes is discreetly as Cassie presses the pen into the smooth flat of Santana's forearm, just above her wrist.

Santana ignores the spike in her heartbeat at the touch, but then her skin feels so much like it's sizzling under the tiny rounded tip that she actually has to glance down just to check. It's another small victory in the unspoken stand-off they're having, and Cassandra grins predatorily before she starts sliding black swirls and loops onto tan skin, smug in the dynamic they've established.

"Yeah, not that this whole retro thing you're doing with the pen isn't cute," Santana pauses to swallow when that electric gaze looks up and does the pinning in place thing again. The blonde stills and narrows her eyes while she waits for the rest of whatever Santana's going to say. "But here's a pro-tip... put your number in my  _phone_  and there's more of a chance I'll actually use it."

Cassandra laughs out loud at the posturing, a full throaty sound that surprises both of them and ripples down Santana's spine to pool in her stomach.

She's so sensitized by now with just the _area code_  written that her mouth has dropped open a little and there's a throb in the growing heat between her legs. Each number feels like it's being traced everywhere and Santana has decided that this woman has got to be some kind of  _Coven_  shit or something, because she's actually letting her  _write_  on her arm and all Santana's doing about it is staring at the chick's tits and hoping she'll write her name, too.

Cassandra finally lifts the—cursed, enchanted, branding—pen from her skin, but doesn't step away or let go of Santana's limb. Santana tries to be all false bravado and chin thrust forward in defiance , but her chest is heaving unchecked and completely gives away how much this little encounter is getting to her. She'll be irritated with herself later for the lack of game, but then again if she gets a hookup out of it, maybe it's working for her as is.

Santana swallows hard as Cassie caresses down her arm and drags a fingernail under the number she's written, finally moving a step back and out of Santana's bubble after the touch. A thin white line appears immediately in the wake of the sharp sensation and she smirks condescendingly at Santana's fluster. Like a spell lifting, the sounds of the hallway around them seem to fade back into Santana's awareness when Cassie steps away, and she tries to get a hold on her breathing.

"You'll call." Cassie lifts a hand and pats Santana's flushed cheek, the brunette issuing an unconvincing scoff a moment too late to be effective.

Santana walks away from the woman—C, a glance to her arm tells her—with all the nonchalance her still semi-dazed senses can muster. She navigates the stairwell in her stilettos, thinking that leggy blondes seem to be her flavor, but she isn't sure how much she likes this new trend of bitchy they're coming with.

As she awkwardly shifts her hips in damp tights, her body has a loud and clear answer for that one that she'd rather not acknowledge.  _Brain damage_ , obviously. Maybe an older berry—sweeter juice _is_  what they say—is just what she's been needing.

— — —

The next evening Santana is sitting in the lobby bar of the hotel where Brody entertains his 'guests,' staring at her phone while she waits for an all-clear text from Finn so she can go back to her room. She's already called Quinn, checked her Twitter feed, and updated her Facebook that "New York is better than evAR!" when the edge of a number showing under her sleeve catches her attention.

C.

Something rattles around under the edge of her consciousness, a nagging sort of annoyance that somehow has Rachel's voice.

Whatever.

She pushes up her sleeve and traces the number with her fingernail, thinking over what she knows about the woman and if now is really a good time to indulge a random hookup.

She's recently single (and  _not_ thinking about it), staying in a hotel tonight (fuck you, too, Wonder Twins), doesn't start work at her new job until tomorrow night, and could really use a distraction. She couldn't  _get_  any better timing for a one night stand. C definitely wears a cloud of bitch, but there's no arguing she's sexy and since she's a dance teacher, Santana's looking forward to some intensely hot flexibility in bed.

It clicks all at once and an incredulous laugh bursts out of her with the realization, drawing an odd look from the bartender. C, hateful blonde dance instructor at NYADA, called the class Brody was leading her studio.  _Duh_.

Santana's immediately reminded of Rachel thanking her months ago (in that psychotic over-compensating Berry way she has) for the "intensive pre-conditioning" she supplied in high school, since 'Miss July' also preferred insult-heavy mocking.

That memory gives way to just a few nights ago, when Kurt mentioned that Brody and Rachel shared an 'open relationship' only because the dude had slept with Rachel's NYADA nemesis before Rachel could request exclusivity. Rachel had huffed out of the room at the comment, pouting behind her curtain for the rest of the night and having truly obnoxious sex with Brody when he finally slithered in, like she had something to prove with the party favor.

Santana grins into her drink, this was really just a _gift_  the city had handed her. The same night she gets booted from her so-called family's apartment, she's offered free sex with Rachel's nemesis, who just happens to be an exceptionally tasty piece of cheesecake in just the right New York style.

Tapping the number into her phone, Santana saves it as C and hits Call, unable to contain her self-satisfied smirk.

— — —

The apartment's nice—like,  _really nice_ —and Santana tells her so before she can think better of it.

"Oh Christ, look, if we're gonna play upper east side pleasantries you can just turn around and show yourself back out." Cassie walks away from Santana down the hall and calls back over her shoulder, "If you want to fuck, let's see it. I'm already half asleep from how long it took you to get here." She then disappears into what Santana assumes is the bedroom.

Santana's pride is a mildly stung by the dismissive chastisement, but it's a feeling she's getting used to with Cassandra. The woman has a nonchalant kind of ownership about her and Santana finds herself falling in line with it, somehow before it even occurs to her to balk.

It's  _unnerving_.

She sets her purse near the door and squares her shoulders before she follows down the hall, finding Cassie sitting in a chair next to her bed with a bored expression. She's wearing a silky robe that looks to have nothing beneath it, her legs crossed elegantly and a tantalizing length of creamy thigh exposed. Cassie crooks a finger at Santana standing uncertainly in the doorway, and the brunette feels an embarrassing flip in her stomach.

Santana enters the room with slow steps, playing at ambivalence and maybe a tiny bit of resistance to order, until Cassandra uncrosses those forever-long legs with a quirk of her brow and a twitch of her lips.

Yeah, okay, enough with the hesitation game, Santana knows how to work this. She pastes on her favorite smirk as she moves into the inviting space between Cassie's knees and braces her hands on the arms of the chair, leaning in and over the blonde.

They gauge each other silently, sharing breaths, Cassie waiting to see what this girl can do and Santana trying to stop herself from grinning moronically.

This chick just like,  _unsettles_  her somehow, crawls under her skin and pushes up from beneath with just a look. It reminds her of being with Brittany even though the bitchtastic attitude is very Quinn, and a part of Santana wonders if every blonde she ever knows will be held to those two for comparison.

She leans down for a kiss—halfway just to silence her ghosts of blondes past—and is further derailed when Cassie's touch brushes against her throat. Santana's breath catches as the wandering fingertips walk their way up her chin to rest against her lips, and she flicks her tongue out in a teasing whisper of contact.

"This isn't that kind of rendezvous," Cassandra says quietly with an edge to her voice, and Santana's momentarily bewildered—no kissing, what?

Despite the singular nature of a hookup, her first reaction is that she's nobody's whore and her spine stiffens in protest. But then Cassie's popping the buttons fastened on Santana's shirt, separating them one-by-one until it hangs open and the brunette decides maybe kissing can wait. She tightens her fingers around the arms of the chair until the wood creaks, and concentrates on not moving while Cassandra touches her leisurely.

Santana doesn't know exactly where this unchallenged obedience is coming from, it's like Cassie has tapped the same nerve that always had her falling in line with Sue and Quinn. At least no one that matters can see it, so she figures it's whatever. It's looking like if she strokes Cassie's ego and lets her call the shots, they can both get some orgasms out of it, so really, what's the harm?

Santana chooses to ignore that she's not  _letting_  Cassandra July do anything.

The blonde traces her fingertips lightly over the swells of Santana's breasts where they rise and fall in a push-up bra, hungry gaze roving over tanned abdominal muscles that flex slightly with every breath. Her eyes flicker back up to deep brown and she watches carefully for any resistance while she presses a single finger into Santana's sternum, pushing her to kneel on the floor.

Santana feels herself taking shallow breaths as her knees slowly meet the carpet in front of Cassie's chair, such a powerful directive delivered with such a small touch, Santana feels bewitched. The blonde trails her fingers back up to outline the curve of Santana's lower lip with her thumb, staring at it while her tongue peeks out to drag across her own lips.

"Think you can figure out what to do with your mouth, instead?" She spreads her legs on either side of Santana just that extra inch wider, the implication anything but subtle, and arches her eyebrow while she waits for the brunette to make the decision.

Okay, so yeah, a part of Santana wants to snap back—who does this chick think she is?

But there's another part of her that is hypnotized by the scent wafting from between Cassie's thighs, and Santana knows there's already a pounding slickness between her own. She  _wants_  to please this woman—make her  _moan_ —and she digs her nails into the pale skin of the blonde's inner thigh at the thought.

There's a little intake of breath at the action that seals the deal for Santana. Yeah, this is happening, and like,  _now_.

She runs her hands up over Cassie's thighs and hips, a smile curling the edge of her lips as she grips a handful of each ass cheek and tugs sharply to pull Cassie to the edge of the chair.

"I'm sure I'll think of something."

Santana ducks her head with the comment and takes an exploratory swipe, a little irritated with herself for the whimper that falls out of her at the taste. Her fingers dig into the curve of muscle in each hand and her eyes squeeze closed as she lets her lips and tongue slip around the hot flesh, taking her time to build up the tension.

By the time she is hooking her arms under Cassie's thighs—shifting so she doesn't lose contact with the move—Santana has the random thought that as long as she can do  _this_ forever, she'll be happy. The scent, the taste, the feel of a woman's passion pressing desperately into her face, each needy sound she pulls from her partner's throat triggering another spasm from her own hips—it's really the closest Santana's ever felt to being  _meant_  to do something.

"God, lesbians are always so much better at this..."

The commentary is groaned up to the ceiling from where Cassie's head is tilted back on the chair, but it brings Santana back to the moment. She forces her eyes open to look up at Cassie, who has one hand tangled at the crown of Santana's head with a firm grip while the other squeezes at her own breast, occasionally twisting the nipple.

Santana feels her body clench when shading green eyes shift into focus to watch her, Cassie's fingers sliding to the back of the brunette's skull in silent guidance.

"You like that?"

Santana's brows lift at the question and she moves to pull back and answer, but Cassandra stops the retreat. "Ah ah ah." An almost evil smile spreads over her face and she tightens her fist in dark hair, lifting her hips to keep contact with Santana's mouth.

Alright, yeah. It's fucking hot, okay? Hot enough that Santana's eyes roll back and she dips her chin to push her tongue inside.

She's decided in this moment that she kind of  _needs_  to put Cassie on that desperate edge, and the constant stinging sensation from her scalp is only adding to the impulse. She can always rely on the dependability of lust to feel better about herself in the short term. She pulls her tongue back and flattens it to run a wide figure-eight over Cassie's sex, plunging back in at the blonde's sharp inhale.

" _Ungh_ , yes, use your tongue..." Cassie's voice has lowered into a rasp, and Santana can't help but hope that she'll keep talking. She's always been on the more aurally stimulated side, which incidentally makes her affection for Rachel's voice something she refuses to think about too deeply.

"Is it turning you on, Santana?"

Fuck yes, it's turning her on. She looks up to see Cassandra's eyes have turned dark and glittering while she watches, and Santana's lower abdomen twists violently at the sight. She nods, replacing her tongue with two fingers so she can slide her mouth up, sucking lightly at the swollen bud.

There's a gasp that makes her smile into wet heat, flicking just the tip of her tongue faintly against either side of Cassie's clit. Yeah, Santana's fucking good at this, and she knows it.

"Show me how much it's turning you on."

Santana slows just barely in her task, her brows furrowing in confusion at what Cassandra is asking for. It doesn't escape her notice that she is all-out bottoming for this chick, but whatever. It's hot and Santana is pretty sure it'll be worth her efforts if she just puts the time in.

It's still fucking annoying how wet she gets at the approval in Cassie's gaze.

"Touch yourself, I want to see you," the order is calm and Santana only halfway manages to swallow her moan of relief. Keeping her hold on Santana's hair, Cassie uses her other hand to pull at Santana's arm, pushing it down towards the floor. "But  _don't_  come."

Fuck, she's so much closer just from that warning and a part of her wonders what that even  _means_. But her fingers are eagerly popping the button on her denim shorts before sliding into the hot slickness soaking her thong, so the rest of her seems willing to enjoy it without too many questions.

Cassie's starting to pant, her mouth dropped open and both hands gripping Santana's skull to dig her nails in. Her eyes are barely open a sliver and her gaze sloshes almost drunkenly between Santana's face and her flexing arm.

" _Jesus_ —"

A few moments later, Santana's actually pretty surprised that Cassie comes so quickly. It's quiet and intense, with one sharp cry before she jerks her hips up and grinds against the brunette's face. Santana can't do anything but stare and keep her tongue sliding over the throbbing pulse she feels between her lips, she honestly expected to work a little harder before it was her turn. The thought reminds her how very much she wants to come, and her fingers press inside herself while she licks at the remainders of Cassandra's arousal.

Cassie whimpers just a little, the vulnerable noise sounding foreign and off-note for what Santana knows of the woman. She pushes her palm against Santana's forehead abruptly, pulling herself up from the slouch she'd ended up in and putting space between them.

Santana's too worked up to be thinking clearly, which is the only excuse that comes to mind for why her main thought while settling back on her knees and licking her lips is that this bitch better not make her get herself off.

"Strip." The command is sharp, Cassie rising to her feet with the word. "Then get on the bed."

She struts off to the walk-in closet and Santana notices with only a little admiration that she's still wearing her heels. Those forever-long legs disappear into the depths of the closet and Santana snaps to action. She's on her feet with her sparse clothing on the floor in seconds, then awkwardly sits on the edge of the bed and tries to decide if it's anticipation or anxiety twisting in her belly.

"You look like the kinda girl that took a lot of football dick before discovering your sapphic leanings in the locker room." What the hell is  _that_  supposed to mean? Santana is bewildered—and maybe at least half offended—by the comment floating out detached from the closet.

"What the hell is  _th_ —"

Santana stops mid-word when Cassie comes back through the closet door securing the buckles of a strap-on to her hips. She walks like it's been there since birth, all swagger and confidence, showing none of the sheepish insecurity that Santana has felt the two times she's ever worn one.

"Get on your hands and knees."

Santana swallows roughly when her mouth goes dry and flips over like she's ducking a bomb , popping up to her knees and looking over to Cassie through a curtain of dark hair. She knows it's needy and debasing—and she'd be lying if she said that thought didn't just make it hotter—but fuck, she  _does_  needright now, bad enough to not care.

She feels the dip of Cassie climbing onto the bed and a detached part of her brain wonders how someone can manage to be smooth even about shuffling across the bed on their knees. Then she's not thinking much at all because Cassie's tucking herself behind Santana, her thighs pressed against the back of Santana's while she deliberately rubs the tip of the cock between slick lips, the brunette's ass dancing around trying to chase the tiny friction.

"Yessss..." she hisses, just as Cassie's hand lands on her hip and her nails dig into the jut of bone.

"Be a good girl and don't scream, I have neighbors." Cassie says it conversationally, like she's correcting a dance position or commenting on the weather, while the dick is sliding completely into Santana with the sentence. The brunette misses most of the words behind her own ragged groan at the filling sensation, but she does catch the little grunt Cassie isn't able to contain.

Cassie rides her like she's doing it for her own benefit and when she finally slides her hand under Santana's sweat-slicked body to rub over the swollen knot of her clit, Santana cries out sharply, the sound echoing off the walls. She earns a stinging slap to her ass cheek that only serves to pull another hoarse cry from her throat and a rough jerk of her body.

"I told you to be  _quiet_." Cassandra growls into Santana's ear, not letting up on the rhythmic snap of her hips nor the friction of her fingers. "Can't you follow simple instructions?"

Santana nods emphatically, biting her lip to keep the moans at bay. It's a challenge when Cassie is bottoming out with every thrust and her fingers are relentless, but Santana doesn't want to do  _anything_  that might make the other woman stop.

"See if you can manage this one," Cassie whispers, sitting upright to get better leverage as she slams into Santana, digging her fingers in at the girl's hips to pull her backwards into each push forward. " _Come_."

Somewhere beneath rushing blood roaring in her ears and the euphoric waves of release, Santana is smug at the moan she can barely hear over the sound of her own wail.

— — —

Santana wakes up to an empty bed and a note on the pillow that tells her to show herself out and warns that she should "suppress any impulses to steal something" because the apartment is under security surveillance.

She sighs, laying it back on the pillow and climbing out of bed to look for her clothes. Her body is pleasantly weary, and the itchy feeling she always gets under her skin when she goes without sex for too long has calmed. Santana pointedly ignores how the cavernous ache in her chest feels like it might just consume her in some kind of imploding black hole. She reminds herself that she wasn't looking for a deep emotional connection, then snorts out loud at the idea of Cassie being emotionally connected to  _anything_ , deeply or otherwise.

There's a text on her phone from Rachel that reads "I know about Brody and Finn. Please call me, Santana. I need to talk to you."

Well, shit.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Santana moves back into the loft, she doesn’t tell Rachel what happened with Cassie, but they both end up surprised when the truth comes out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _threesome.. tryna have a threesome... lookit my watch..._
> 
> yeah, you already know, it's pointless porn. but it's gotta bit of emotion in there, too! ;) promise. 
> 
> enjoy

_“....so leave your message at the tone, and I’ll call you back as soon as I can!”_

 Santana jabs the End key on her phone with a sneer, not leaving a message. Of course, the _one_ time she’s actually in a weird enough place to reach out, Rachel doesn’t answer.

It’s been two weeks since the Bushwick loft became a "peace-treaty zone." Santana rolls her eyes at the title and decides sex will work just as well to distract her from the churning dissatisfied feeling in her gut. She turns and starts making her way toward Cassie’s apartment.

She still hasn't been able to tell Rachel about her and Cassie, but she _has_ managed to hook up with the woman about three more times since that first night. She thinks about calling and decides against it—just in case Cassie actually tells her not to come—and though she’s a bit nervous about just showing up, she figures three times qualifies as enough of an established booty call relationship to allow for an unannounced visit. At least it’s _some_ kind of relationship.

Santana just got off a long shift at the bar where the new girl (newer than her, so she can call her that) has been literally riding her thigh every dance break. It’s not the moves they’re trained to use, it’s _not_ just for show—the damp heat she felt by the third round can speak to that—and it just left Santana feeling empty.

She finds herself getting used to that feeling, and that’s the scariest part of all of it. 

Cassie takes a few minutes longer than the last few times to answer the door, and when she finally does, her expression is all surprise while trying to tie her robe closed. 

“What are you doing here?” 

Santana shrugs and ignores the sting of the blunt question. She tries to casually brush past Cassie into the apartment, muttering something about being in the neighborhood. 

"Somehow I doubt you were just ‘in my neighborhood,’ Santana.” Cassie snipes, shoving her foot in front of the door before it can swing open all the way. “I’m busy,” she says flatly. “You need to leave.” 

Her tone brooks no argument and with the way Santana’s been feeling lately, that’s really all it would’ve taken to send her home with her tail between her legs. It would’ve worked out that way, if Santana hadn’t caught a glimpse over Cassie’s shoulder of Rachel on the far side of the well-furnished living room, fumbling to hold her shirt in front of her naked chest. 

" _Rachel_?!” She barks incredulously, Rachel’s head snapping up with a perfect wide-eyed expression of panic frozen on her features.

Santana barges past Cassie and Rachel yelps, dropping to the floor by the sofa like maybe Santana will somehow _forget_ what she just saw if she doesn't physically see her anymore.

"Please, come in, we’re obviously not in the middle of something.” Cassie’s sarcasm soaks her tone as she closes the door and turns to the bar, pouring an amber colored liquid into a three finger glass. She drops a few ice cubes into the glass before she turns around and leans back against the wood, casting her gaze back and forth between the two brunettes still gaping at each other. “Unless you plan to stay and help Schwimmer here with her _extra credit_ , I suggest you state what you need, Miss Lopez, and remove your uninvited presence from my home.” 

"Rachel, what the _fuck_?” Santana’s shock hasn’t dissipated any, instead blending with rage and a gnawing upset she can’t name. It’s a fucking twilight zone in this condo and she can’t decide if she’s more pissed that Cassie has another fuck-buddy, that it’s _Rachel_ , or that Rachel didn’t tell her.

Rachel, meanwhile, attempts to collect herself with as much dignity as possible, rising from the floor and keeping a death grip on the blouse in her hands that protects the last remnants of her pride. She sniffs delicately and Santana watches in morbid fascination as she squares her shoulders and lifts her chin in some drummed up defiance. 

"Not that it’s any concern of yours, Santana, but Miss July and I have worked out a-an _arrangement_ of sorts, since our enmity was severely impeding my attempt to earn my necessary dance credits.”

"Jesus, Schwimmer. If that’s what you sounded like in high school, I’m not surprised they hated you.” Cassie chimes in from the bar, a mildly disgusted look marring her beautiful features. 

“Watch it, _Miss July_ ,” Santana surprises herself when her tone is suddenly all snide derision aimed in Cassie’s direction, and Rachel’s eyes snap to her in confusion. Cassie just scoffs on a chuckle and rolls her eyes. 

“That chihuahua act is real cute. Isn’t it cute, Schwimmer?” She grins meanly at Rachel and takes another drink from her glass. “You’re just the type for a designer purse dog.” 

Santana ignores the comment she’s pretty sure was both a racial and personal dig, not taking her eyes off Rachel. 

“I don’t get it, Berry,” she says with her brows furrowed. “You’re _straight_. Preening prissy-pants boyfriend to rhythmless ape fiancee to the hairless sex doll,” Rachel frowns at the descriptions and settles gingerly on the sectional sofa, clutching the material of her shirt like a bath towel. “Despite your obviously shitty taste, you’ve always been terminally heterosexual and _off-limits_ , wha—” 

Santana snaps her jaw shut, cutting off the self-revelatory word vomit she really didn’t about think too carefully before letting her mouth get ahead of her. She sucks in a breath and releases it haltingly, eyes darting all over the floor as the whole situation washes over her again, even more upsetting on the second pass. She hears her own words echoing in her ears and what exactly she just said fully sinks in. Rachel’s head is tilted like a curious Labrador puppy, and Santana can see out of the corner of her eye where Cassie’s smirk has spread into an all-out malicious grin. 

It’s too much—this whole situation she's interrupted, the loneliness she’s been feeling, Cassie’s taunting smile, Rachel’s _everything_ —and Santana suddenly can’t breathe. She turns and takes a step toward the door to just escape this fuckery as rapidly as possible, only to find the blonde leaning against it with that same cruel smile lighting an actual spark in her eyes. 

"Nuh-uh, chickie... this just got interesting.” 

Santana stops in place, a momentary flash of overwhelming vulnerability starting a panicky kind of violent feeling that’s looking pretty attractive at the moment. 

"Why are you even _here_ , Santana?" Rachel sounds weary, not looking up as her voice resonates tired resignation. 

"Oh, that's a fun story." Cassie's tone is sinful, her delight evident. "So, your vicious Bruiser and I, we also have an _arrangement_ ," the revelation is doused in her mocking, and Rachel's forehead scrunches processing the information. "I'm so shocked she didn't tell you about it." 

That's not exactly how Santana expected the whole telling Rachel thing to go, but it's out there now and it's not like Rachel has any real reason to be upset about it. It's quiet for a few moments, Santana deciding how much force would be necessary to move Cassie away from the door, while Rachel is trying to make room in her world view for this new information and Cassie just stands there pleased with herself at the upheaval. 

"So now I have a question for you, Schwimmer.” 

Rachel looks like she might puke or cry or somehow manage both simultaneously, but she raises her chin to look at Cassie. 

“Can I assume that the ‘ridiculously hot lesbian cheerleader slash roommate’ you’ve mentioned is none other than our trembling Miss Lopez here?” 

Santana's neck cracks from how fast she spins her head, and Rachel’s eyes somehow widen even further, stuttering and half-assed denials falling over themselves in the rush to get out of her mouth. 

“Shhh," Cassie tuts, walking towards the sofa. "Words are hard, I know.” 

Santana's ears are perked at the implication, despite how much she tells herself to ignore the obvious baiting. She's suddenly very curious how Rachel has talked about her—and what exactly Cassie is trying to accomplish by bringing it up—while warning bells are going off like some Notre Dame shit in her head. 

“I just think that since my evening’s been interrupted for _your_ ,” Cassie pauses to point at both of them, “bullshit... You,” she points again, “are now responsible for making it up to me.” Cassie settles down in the middle of the sectional—an arm’s length from Rachel and across from where Santana still stands halfway between entryway and living room—and pauses for dramatic effect while she crosses her legs. 

“And when it comes to things either of you have to offer that I could possibly want… well,” Cassie reclines against the cushion behind her and recrosses her legs in some full-on Basic Instinct shit, looking at each of them in turn. “I think we all know that list is fairly short.” 

“Are you _serious_ …” Santana shakes her head with her face all pinched, this concept is blowing fuses and it might even hurt a bit, while Cassie just quirks an eyebrow at her in a move that is very reminiscent of Quinn. Fucking blondes. “Look, you need to slow your roll Jackie Daniels. That is not—” 

“Did you mean it?” Rachel’s voice is a bit of a croak, unexpected and drawing the attention of both the other women in the room. “Th-the thing you said about me being off-limits. What were you... I mean, what did that—” 

"Get to the point, Rachel.” Cassie snaps like it physically pains her to listen to the ramble. She looks back at Santana expectantly, holding her hand out like she’s Vanna fucking White showcasing Rachel for offer. “Do you want to fuck her, or what?” 

“Do I wa—this is in _sane_ ,” Santana cuts the air with her hand, staring down Cassie because she just can’t look at Rachel right now. 

Cassie leans towards Rachel’s end of the sofa to stage-whisper, “That’s not a no.” 

She reaches her arm across the spine of the sectional, taking a lock of Rachel's hair between her fingers and twirling it with a curious expression. Rachel visibly swallows, then licks her lips and takes a deep breath. She looks up and pins Santana with this crazy determined expression that Santana’s learned means she’s made a decision—watch out immoveable objects, unstoppable force is on her way. 

“I’m in if you are.” It doesn’t come out very strong, but Rachel Berry in all her natural intensity drives it home, anyway. 

Santana’s shocked at the admission, then reels that back before anyone can notice and is left just torn. There's now a battle royale going on in her brain, the looming shadow of everything that could go wrong weighing itself against the salacious pull of what’s on offer. She can’t deny there’s a part of her that’s been fighting for what feels like _ever_ against her steadily building attraction to Rachel, and hearing that she hasn’t been alone in wanting has excitement bubbling up her throat. Then that voided feeling she hasn’t been able to shake echoes, and she’s reminded that going through with this whole thing definitely will not help the situation, and could easily end up with her and Rachel losing _any_ friendship they have left. 

While Santana debates her moral dilemma, Cassie starts actively executing her latest performance piece, prowling closer to Rachel on the sectional sofa and pressing herself into the girl’s side. She keeps an eye on Santana in her periphery while she gently takes the blouse from Rachel’s grip and drops it on the floor, leaning in to whisper something that has Rachel’s pupils dilating as she stares at Santana and nods. 

That is definitely an interesting turn. Santana watches pale fingers drag Rachel’s skirt up her thigh, her legs slowly opening like a fucking gate to Elysium at the guidance, while Cassie tilts her head to slide her mouth up Rachel’s neck. Fuck, that's hotter than she expected it to be, and her breath hitches in her throat at the display while she stays locked with Rachel in this weird kind of attempted telepathy, riveted to one another. 

God, this whole thing is just completely fucked up, but even knowing that, Santana’s still not coming up with a good enough reason to not do it. She _wants_ Rachel, and has been wanting Rachel for a long time, as much as she’s tried to talk, bully, and deny herself out of the questionable attraction. Plus with the way Rachel’s staring at her—all heavy lids and parted lips, the muscle in her thigh twitching while Cassie unzips her skirt—it looks like she's actually really into this. The longer Santana watches, the harder it is to think of reasons that should be a _bad_ thing. 

Santana takes a step toward Rachel, deciding that if this is what’s on the table, she’s going for it. She knows it’s self destructive on a bunch of levels she’s not even about to explore, but maybe there’s something freeing in the beauty of devastation. Besides, it was only two weeks ago that Rachel was not only willing but _trying_ to lose Santana over some fucking gigolo she’d only known for a couple months, so it's not like _she's_ too worried about the effect this will have on their relationship. 

“Wow, Berry." Santana says, sounding collected and maybe a little teasing as she begins her deliberately nonchalant stroll across the living room. "You really just _can't_ pass up an opportunity to perform, can you?" 

She stops just in front of Rachel’s parted knees—never breaking the freaky voodoo eye-lock thing they've got going on, even though Cassie's lips are still wandering the length of Rachel's neck—and lets the question hang for a moment. Santana finally ticks just the corner of her mouth slightly upward, and Rachel responds with a dark kind of smile that surprises Santana with how hot it is. 

"It's always so much better with an attentive audience, you know." The smooth low pitch in Rachel's voice is something Santana's never heard from her before, and she immediately decides she’ll be hearing it again. 

Cassie chuckles against the warm skin in her mouth and nips at Rachel’s earlobe before she pulls back, a quick gasp from Rachel punctuating the move. The blonde reaches up to hook a finger into the waistband of Santana's skirt, tugging sharply to pull her down in front of Rachel. 

"C'mere."

"Excuse you." Santana grumbles as her knees hit the carpet—what _is_ it with this woman always putting her on her knees?—and has to catch herself with a totally-not-awkward grip to each of Rachel's thighs. 

"This stunted attempt at flirting is charming, ladies, really. Takes me right back to junior high." Cassie empties the last swallow of scotch from her glass and insinuates herself through the narrow space between Rachel and Santana to set it on the side table. "But one of you is going to have to actually _do_ something for this to get started." She sits back and rolls her finger in a 'get on with it' motion, raising her brows at them expectantly. 

Rachel takes a deep breath, and in hindsight, that should've been the indicator that she was about to ‘ _do_ something,’ but the pressure of her lips is still a shock when it happens. It's a quick brush, Rachel pulling back just far enough to exhale shakily across Santana's parted lips and flicker dark eyes back and forth between them and Santana's veil of lashes. She pushes forward two, three more times, each kiss a little more confident, a little more searching, until Santana is leaning in to chase her when she retreats again. 

She presses into the kiss until Rachel falls back into the sofa and the eyes she can feel recording every move fade out, until it doesn’t matter that Cassie is right there, all Santana is aware of is the stroke of Rachel's tongue in her mouth, the soft warmth of her body, and the rushed breaths that escape between them. It's a flood of want that's been dammed up and waiting for this for too long, and Santana feels any leftover resistance she had float away in the wash like so much flotsam. 

She gives in completely and leans further into the kiss while sliding her hands up the smoothness of Rachel’s thighs, pushing the skirt the rest of the way until it’s a mash of fabric bunched around her waist. Santana follows the curve of Rachel’s hips until she can dig her fingers into the muscle of her ass, groaning lowly into Rachel's mouth as she pulls them tighter together. Why did it take so long to get here, again? 

She’s dimly aware of Cassie clearing her throat beside them, but then Rachel’s wrapping one of those deliciously long legs around her waist, digging in her heel for leverage as she grinds herself into Santana’s belly, and Santana really doesn’t give a shit what Cassie’s doing. She feels the sofa move when the blonde gets up, then delicate pale hands are sliding around her from behind, pushing the stretchy material of her shirt up her torso until she has to break the kiss to let it be pulled over her head. 

Everything’s moving like, _super_ fast, and Santana pulls away to catch her breath—and maybe reign it in a bit before she ends up fucking Rachel stupid right here and now, Cassie or no Cassie—at the convenient interruption. Cassie is right behind her on the floor, and when Santana sits upright off the inviting body in front of her she feels hard nipples pressing into her back, apparently Cassie removed her robe somewhere in the process. Rachel stays back against the cushions looking like sex personified, her already plump lips swollen from the rough kissing and her dark eyes trailing up and down Santana’s body with this hungry look that has Santana throbbing. 

“ _God_ , Santana, you’re so fucking sexy.” It’s almost a growl and Santana’s hips jerk at the curse, she can count on one hand the number of times she’s ever heard Rachel swear. 

Small hands grip the skin at Santana’s sides, groping and feeling their way over her ribs and abdominal muscles before sliding up to reverently grace over Santana’s breasts in her push-up bra. A moment later Cassie pops the clasp and Rachel’s eyes widen like Christmas morning as she sits up to pull the straps down Santana’s arms, freeing gorgeous tits to her impatient touch. 

Rachel moans in delight, grasping massaging handfuls as if she's found the secret treasure of the ages and pinching both nipples between her fingers at once. Her all-out exuberance has Santana nearly moaning right along with her, but instead she twines her fingers into Rachel’s hair, guiding to her aching nipple and hissing in pleasure when Rachel eagerly follows the prompt. Somewhere she knows that she should’ve expected Rachel to approach sex with the same fervent drive she has for everything else, but being on the receiving end of all that passion is still seriously drenching her underwear. 

Rachel alternates between breasts, closing those plush lips around one nipple before releasing it with a wet pop and sucking the other against the edge of her teeth. Her eyes snap open and the look she shoots at Santana has the hands in her hair tightening before Santana even realizes she's done it. It registers when Rachel's eyelashes flutter, and then Cassie's tugging at her to remove the tight skirt that qualifies as part of the ‘uniform’ for Coyote Ugly wait staff, and she has to grip Rachel's shoulders to steady herself. 

After Cassie finally gets it—Santana almost falling in the awkwardness of angling out of a skirt while on her knees between someone else’s legs—she scoots them both backwards a few inches from the edge of the couch with her grip on Santana’s hips. Rachel whines when Santana hesitantly lets herself be moved just out of reach, her hands scrabbling at Santana's body to hold onto her prize. 

Cassie rubs her fingers over Santana’s lower back and upward, using the touch to not-so-subtly push Santana down until she's bracing her hands at Rachel’s sides on the cushions to not fall forward. 

“This might be my favorite view of you,” She murmurs it almost to herself as she runs her hands back down Santana's spine to grip each fleshy curve of her ass. Given the physical direction, Santana figures it’s pretty obvious where she’s being led, and since she was headed there eventually, anyway, she doesn’t really resist. She ignores the fact that she probably wasn’t going to resist Cassandra’s silent order, either way, and instead looks up to Rachel’s face for any objection. 

Santana's breath leaves her in a puff of air against Rachel's belly at the look that greets her, Rachel is _very_ attentively following her with darkened eyes, her lips parted like she's venting heat with each shallow breath. She cups her hands to Santana’s cheeks, stroking over cheekbones, nose, lips, before caressing a path down her chin to curl her fingers around the back of Santana’s neck. Rachel squeezes just barely, her implicit approval spurring Santana to close the slight distance remaining until she’s sliding wet kisses over the ridges of Rachel’s ribs, her eyes slipping closed as she traces planes and valleys with her lips. 

It’s still some fucking alternate universe trip to be here mostly naked and moments from going down on Rachel Berry, even though Santana can’t pretend like she hasn’t thought about doing exactly that, more times than she cares to admit. She’s enjoying her thorough oral reconnaissance of Rachel’s body, her hands devoted to learning every curve and swell along the way, but the hot wetness she can feel slicking against her breasts between Rachel’s legs is making it really difficult to keep moving so slow. Santana is still semi-aware of Cassie’s presence, too—the blonde’s fingers drawing careless designs over her ass and down her back while she bumps her pelvis into Santana every so often—and it just adds to the otherworldly sort of mentality going on. 

“ _I_ know a fun game...” Cassie must think she's funny or something, because she slaps her hands to Santana’s ass cheeks with the statement, bongoing a couple times and laughing when Santana wiggles irritably at the treatment. 

“Schwim, we’re gonna let you choose, because I feel like being generous.” The way she says ‘generous’ makes Santana a little worried for Rachel, but since Cassie is the one that brought them this far in the game, she figures she might as well keep following and see where she leads. 

“You’re going to have to decide if you want Santana’s mouth—” 

“I-I do! I want her mouth.” Rachel whimpers a little staring at the pornographic pillows of Santana’s lips, sharing another look infused with that pulsing current of lust before she drags her thumb against Santana’s bottom lip, hitching her breath at the edge of teeth she feels at the tip. Santana doesn't even think before she’s sucking the digit into her mouth, and then thinking isn't really a concern because Rachel lets loose this wrenching moan that has Santana's eyes rolling back at the sound of it. 

“Ah ah ah, Miss Interrupter, I wasn’t finished.” Cassie chastises and Santana ignores her because now that she's established this connection to Rachel, it's pretty much a singular mindset to follow it through and she's definitely not about exploring what that might mean beyond this moment. She finally releases Rachel’s thumb with a yelp when there’s a sharp pull to her hair from behind. 

“As I was saying.” 

Santana sits up again to throw a dirty look over her shoulder at Cassie, the control kick is usually hot and all but Jesus, she's obviously kind of in the middle of something. It sparks a little thrum of rebellion in her veins and she's feeling cocky at the blatant want Rachel is radiating, and the combo has her trailing her left hand down the inside of Rachel’s thigh. She knows Cassie can’t quite see what she’s doing from her position, and Santana feels a wicked little thrill at monopolizing the fact. 

She quirks an eyebrow at Rachel as her fingers draw closer to their destination and Rachel replies without words, eyelids drooping drunkenly while her hips angle forward in silent begging. It just adds to the intimate feeling between them that keeps building despite Cassie's presence, and Santana almost gives them away at the first touch, barely swallowing her groan. Rachel’s so hot and swollen, and just so _wet_ , it kind of breaks Santana’s brain to think she’s the one doing this to her. Any leftover awareness of the blonde wanes as she lets the pad of her thumb slip through Rachel's wetness until she finds the bud of her clit. Santana had no idea how badly she was craving this until it was happening, and now that it is she might die or something if she doesn't get to keep doing it.  

Rachel pulls her lower lip between her teeth when Santana circles the tip of her thumb, her hands clenching the sofa cushions beside her while she fails at stifling her high-pitched whine. It's so fucking addictive to watch Rachel in her pleasure that Santana barely notices Cassie leaning closer to look over her shoulder until she speaks. 

“Oh, well look at you getting ahead of things.” She doesn’t sound too upset about the fact and Santana's not about to stop without order—and maybe not even then, though the idea doesn't occur to her—and she releases a relieved breath when Cassie just nips at the back of her neck before resting her chin on Santana’s shoulder to watch. 

“So do you want her mouth?” Cassie purrs the question with an odd lilt to it and fixes Rachel with an intense gaze, idly playing with Santana’s breasts as she watches. All Santana cares about is keeping Rachel responding to her, and she changes the pattern of her strokes over Rachel’s clit at the same time as her back arches into Cassie's lazy touch. Rachel’s nodding all crazy wide-eyed at Cassie, ‘ _mmhmm_ ’ing with each nod while she twists her hips anxiously to get more friction. 

“Are you sure you don’t want her fingers?” Cassie trails one hand down Santana’s arm until she’s covering the tan fingers moving at Rachel’s sex, guiding the touch until two of them are poised at Rachel’s opening. Santana couldn't have possibly hoped for anything better and keeps her eyes glued to Rachel's face, greedily absorbing every expression as she circles her fingertips under Cassie's. 

“ _Fuck_ , Cassie.” Rachel groans in frustration and scoots further down the couch trying to force the contact, while Cassie just grins and lets her writhe and Santana struggles to keep her vision in focus. She finally pushes against the back of Santana’s hand, removing her own to circle Santana's wrist while closely watching Rachel's face. 

So yeah, Santana’s a little embarrassed by how eagerly she follows the direction, but when she pushes inside with a shaky exhale, just— _God_ , this is so exactly where she wanted to be. Rachel’s eyes are squeezed closed and she hisses a ‘yessss’ at finally getting what she wanted, but then she’s squirming against the unmoving fingers inside her impatiently until Santana slowly pulls out and sinks back in with a controlled motion. Santana’s not going to miss a second of this and is completely hypnotized watching her fingers disappear inside Rachel, only looking away to flicker her gaze back up and soak in the reaction to her touch. 

It doesn’t take long to set a rhythm, and it’s no more than a heartbeat after that—when Rachel’s lifting to meet each thrust of Santana’s fingers, the push-pull forcing out little huffs of air that carry whimpers and partial syllables—that Cassie suddenly tugs Santana’s hand away by the wrist. Santana angrily jerks her head to the side to death glare at Cassie, while Rachel’s eyes pop open in outrage and she sits up straight off the cushion at her back to protest. 

“Wha— _Why_?” She all but shrieks, her gaze wild. 

“Aw, are you close, little girl? She fucked you for thirty seconds and you’re just ready to _cream_ your _jeans_ , aren’t you..." 

Cassie’s got an edge on her voice Santana can’t identify, her gaze drilling into Rachel while she draws Santana’s wrist up toward her face. Santana is still panting shallowly in arousal and she's somewhat confused by the almost bitter sounding jab, but it loses priority when their hands draw closer because the heavy scent of Rachel’s arousal is making her mouth water. She turns her head again to watch her own fingers glide between Cassie’s lips, the whole thing surreal in a way she can't quite wrap her head around. Even Rachel’s moan ringing in her ears gets eclipsed by the silken wet slide of Cassie’s tongue over her sensitive fingertips, it's just so much sensory input at once. She knows she's running on instinct and some remote rational part of her tries to whisper in alarm. 

Cassie pulls Santana’s shiny fingers from her mouth and licks her lips with a decadent smile, then almost falls backward in shock when Santana lifts her chin to take a kiss, her tongue slipping between Cassie's parted lips to search for any leftover flavor. 

She's maybe a little scared how Cassie will react, but by the time she realizes she's already doing it, it’s a bit too late to stifle the impulse. The whole 'no kissing' trip has been bothering her since their first time, added on to the undeniable ego boost from Rachel being on for her, she's feeling a little reckless in the submissive role. It’s carnal and deep, and when Cassie tilts her head to indulge it, she drops Santana’s hand in favor of splaying her fingers along the brunette’s jaw to hold her in place. 

Puffed on self-satisfaction at the little victory, Santana pulls away first, turning back to see Rachel with what can only be called a pout curling her lip. 

“Well, look at that, Schwim.” Cassie’s tone is cool and an appropriate shiver skitters down Santana’s spine at the sound of it. “Bruiser here just got you off the hook for your indecisiveness.” She stands abruptly and takes her glass off the end-table, walking across the room to the bar for another drink. 

Santana is sufficiently bewildered—while Rachel just rolls her eyes and huffs a bit at the delay—and Cassie is back with her glass full before she even has time to come up with a response. Cassie stops a few steps from them and takes a sip, confidently naked and leisurely assessing them like so much prey. Santana feels so awkward trying to twist to see the woman standing silently behind her, she ends up just pulling herself onto the sofa next to Rachel. 

“I think I've got a use for you,” Cassie finally says after she has their full attention, pointing at Santana with the hand holding her scotch and stepping closer to the sofa, “you’re going to watch.” She walks up to Rachel and sets the glass on the table again, then kneels down gracefully, sliding her hands up each of Rachel’s thighs with an evil grin at Santana. 

Okay, so this isn’t what she was going for, and a part of Santana is screaming in protest at having her fun taken away. The rest of her is battling insecurity and wants to see how Rachel responds to Cassie, she doesn’t understand this animal between them and the opportunity—or the _command_ if she’s honest—to watch it unfold firsthand is definitely attractive. Rachel’s gaze flits to Santana quickly, then snaps back to Cassie like a magnet. 

“We’ve already heard how much better Rachel performs with an audience.” Cassie leans over Rachel, pressing her back by force of presence alone, and braces one hand against the sofa cushion next to Rachel’s head. In the next breath she’s sliding two fingers inside the brunette without warning while whispering “Don’t you, Rachel?” 

She’s close in Rachel’s space, their bodies aligned from hip to chest with Cassie’s arm pressed between them, and the blend of light and dark shades has Santana rapt. Rachel’s response to the penetration—and maybe the taunting, too—is a guttural sort of sound that twists something in Santana’s lower belly, and Cassie keeps talking to her conversationally like they're discussing what to have for lunch. 

“It’s not like you were already begging me—” she thrusts into Rachel with the words, keeping her rhythm steady and not quite what Rachel wants. “—in a range of different keys,” Santana squirms in her seat, she can feel the force of Cassie’s movements through the cushion and it’s making her throb. “—to let you come… just before we were interrupted.” 

It sinks in what she’s saying and as soon as it registers Santana decides that Cassie needs to come down a level, and she's more than pleased to provide the knock. The reference to what Cassie and Rachel share—something Santana has no idea how to gauge—has her feeling out of her depth and she’s not a fan of the sensation. She doesn’t try to interfere with what’s happening right now because she’s not an idiot, instead mimicking Cassie’s earlier position and moving to the floor behind the blonde where she’s bent over Rachel. 

“I told you to watch.” Cassie doesn’t look back when she says it, just keeps her face inches from Rachel’s and lets the words find their way out between Rachel’s moans. 

“I can see better from here.” 

That rebellious feeling fires in her chest again and Santana runs one hand down Cassie’s side to hold onto her hipbone, the other sliding up between her thighs to boldly graze her middle finger between Cassie’s lips. She finds her much more excited than she expected—though with the way Rachel is all moans and bucking, she's not sure why that's surprising—and lets her fingers slide around in the wetness without any real purpose. She brushes past Cassie’s clit and the blonde’s hips jerk, and Santana's smile is sinful. 

It occurs to her just after she slips a finger into Cassie's warmth that she gets it, why Cassie always puts her on her knees, it makes sense. With the inarguably commanding woman swinging her hips to get more from Santana’s fingers, panting into Rachel's ear and faltering in her movements just enough to be noticeable, Santana feels a sense of accomplishment, a flush of power that's intoxicating like nothing else. She adds another finger on her next stroke, relishing the grunt the move earns her, and tucks her forehead against the smooth plane of Cassie's back to close her eyes and relish the feeling. 

Rachel's pitch is already escalating, and Santana can hear the spiny edge of whispers trickling through from Cassie's steady stream of commentary, but she can't quite make out what's being said. She remembers how filthy Cassie's been through their own encounters, though, and it fills in the blanks between the few words she manages to catch, sparking more force behind her motions. 

Cassie stops short, snarling, “Don’t you fucking dare…” and Rachel whimpers pitifully. The whispering starts again, fragments of “I _told_ you” and “when _I_ say” slithering through the air as she begins moving again. 

Santana’s pretty sure Rachel is going to come on Cassie's hand any second now, if Cassie’s warning was any indicator. Her body is completely synched to Cassie's, her eyes squeezed closed with unrestrained cries escaping her throat with each deep stroke, and Santana realizes that gnawing upset she couldn't name earlier has introduced itself clearly—hello, blinding jealously. 

She doesn't think too deeply about her motivations or whatever, she just knows that it should be her—Rachel should be clenching on _her_ fingers, begging for _her_ mouth, saying _her_ name on those broken whimpers—and the impulse has her trying that much harder. The angle's not right with how Cassie's bent over and her wrist is starting to ache something fierce, but all Santana keeps thinking is if she can just get through Cassie's concentration, derail her enough that she loses focus, it'll be a win on _so_ many different levels that she’s biting down on her lip at just the thought. 

She drags her other hand down to rub concentrated circles over Cassie's clit, grinning in victory when she feels the blonde's hips spasm again at the sensation. Cassie may get off on control—obviously—but Santana knows from experience that she's also a hedonist in sex. She's not going to deny herself an orgasm just on principle, and Santana _knows_ she can make it happen with her hands. 

Rachel starts to whimper, then the sound degrades into frustrated little huffs while her forehead crinkles and her brows knit together. 

"Cas- _sie_..." It's a drawn out whine, Rachel bucking harshly to force Cassie's fingers to move, and Santana grinds her teeth in a half-grimace, half-smile at Cassie's distraction, the satisfaction as potent as a caress. 

"Gonna come for me, _Miss July_?" Santana rasps out the question, dragging out the name while shortening her thrusts to rub the tips of her fingers back and forth over the soft spot she can feel inside. Cassie's squeezing her fingers, sharp little grunts accentuating her heavy breaths and Santana’s riding the high. "What if I make you ask for it?" 

"Fuck you." The growl is primal, rumbling out from deep in Cassie's chest, but it's only a few strokes later Santana feels the blonde's walls start to flutter around her fingers. She groans into the skin of Cassie's back at the feeling, showing her bluff as her arm flexes to fight the tight resistance until Cassie suddenly stills entirely. 

"Fuh—oh, _fuck._ " It's a quiet exhalation and then Cassie's hips are pumping erratically into Santana's hands, her head dropping to press her face into Rachel's neck while she sucks in heaving breaths. 

It's not until Rachel starts to pet through her hair that she pushes up abruptly and irritably shakes off the tender touch. She pulls her hand away from between Rachel's legs and draws a deep breath, reaching immediately for her scotch on the side table. 

"Don't be so pleased with yourself," Cassie snaps, pushing Santana backwards to make room for herself to get up. She moves the few feet necessary to drape herself in the corner of the sectional, sipping at her glass like she's kissing an old friend's cheek and eyeing them from over its rim.

Santana sits back on her feet with her hands on her knees, basking in waves of smug self-satisfaction while she lets her eyes run leisurely over Rachel’s body, debating which way she wants to go about dismantling her next. 

"See, this is why I have to tell you what to do, you just fucking stare at each other otherwise." Cassie rolls her eyes and takes another drink, like they're stubborn children she's exasperated with. "If you _breathe_ in her direction, she's gonna come. What more setup can I possibly give you? 

Santana actually lets her gaze meet Rachel's, that same breathless feeling from before freezing her lungs. Rachel's gorgeous, especially looking so disheveled and freshly fucked, and since this scenario is pretty much exactly what Santana was trying for, she doesn't hesitate. It must strike Rachel in the same moment, because they meet somewhere in between Rachel sitting up and Santana crawling forward, a ravenous sort of kiss slanting open mouthed and raw. 

"Here we go." Cassie sounds almost bored, but neither of them responds, either way. They're consumed with consuming each other, hands roaming wildly to pull and smooth over hot skin, while a melody of different notes comes out smothered between them. Rachel pushes forward into it until Santana's shuffling backwards to make room on the floor, craning her neck to keep their lips connected in the process. 

Santana pulls back from the kiss to pant breathlessly and press her forehead to Rachel's, then looks down to watch her own hand squeeze between their bodies. Rachel just widens her knees, her pelvis snapping forward in desperate invitation, and whines into the kiss. They both gasp when Santana's fingers slide in without resistance, and Santana moans lowly when Rachel reaches down to mirror the action. She knows that after everything that’s led up to this point this isn’t going to last very long at all, but it feels so fucking good to be inside Rachel with her fingers almost slipping from how wet she is and the heady scent of sex fogged around them, that she doesn’t even care. 

They're a mess of sweaty writhing and Santana feels like she's drunk on the different sensations, she has no sense of time beyond this second. Rachel's eyes lock with hers and the moment suspends, and a part of knows how cheesy that sounds but it's the only way she can think to put it. It's just her and Rachel in this protected private bubble of a shared heartbeat, and Santana's sheepish when she thinks about it later and knows _that's_ what actually pushes her over. 

She digs the fingers of her free hand into Rachel’s ass cheek and throws her head back, letting loose a string of curses toward the ceiling just as Rachel starts to lose her rhythm. She follows the instant Santana's body clamps down on her fingers, but it's close enough that Cassie probably can't tell who starts first. They end up slumped together on the floor in front of the sofa, sweaty and each trying to catch their breath, with their arms still loosely wrapped one another. 

"Well, that was interesting, if not brief." 

Cassie's comment throws a naked bulb's unflattering light on what felt like some kind of transcendent sunburst, and Santana is all at once starkly aware of her current situation. The bubble pops with the sentence and she and Rachel are naked and trembling on the floor of Cassie's living room, their flowing connected moment feeling kind of tarnished by the perspective. 

Santana self-consciously shifts back a little from the embrace, hazarding a tentative glance at Rachel, and instantly feels a bit of her mounting anxiety calm at the warmth in that steady gaze. It's like some veil has lifted in all that swirling brown, and the kind of freaky intensity Rachel always wears has a different shade now.

There's a tiny reassuring smile traded between them—a silent confirmation that there was _something_ , and what it was can be determined later—before Santana notices they're holding hands. 

"Oh my _god_ , this eye fucking is making me nauseous." 

Cassie stands with the jibe, returning to her bar for yet another refill and Santana just raises her brows at Rachel and blows out a breath through her cheeks. Now that the hormones are dissipating, this whole thing has rapidly passed its ripe phase and moved directly into awkward. Rachel smiles shyly and gets a squeeze against her fingers, then Santana is getting up, picking her way around the living room to retrieve her clothes. 

“Oh are you not up for round two? That’s disappointing.” Cassie’s eyeing them almost defensively from her bar, and she makes it sound like Santana leaving is probably the least disappointing thing that could happen at this moment. 

“Yeah, no thanks.” Santana hops a little as she steps into her heels—when did they even come off?—and plasters on her fakest smile. “As lovely as this has all been, I think I’m done playing lost scenes of Broadway's L-Word for a minute.” 

She doesn’t let herself look at Rachel again, it’s too raw and fresh and she just can’t handle the thought that what she’ll see might be less than what she’s expecting, and instead walks over to Cassie. 

"You know you'll miss me." 

There’s a thrill she can’t explain when the blonde stiffens at her nearness—she doesn't dare presume it was the comment—and Santana lets it bolster her confidence as she leans in close, her eyes never leaving tumultuous green. She stops centimeters from Cassie’s lips, flickering her gaze to them and back to that electric stare a few times to give the other woman every opportunity to stop her, until Cassie parts her lips to release her breath with just the slightest tremble. 

"Need help finding the door?” It's snarky of course, but doesn’t seem to have any of her normal burn to it and Santana bites back a grin. _Triumph_. She tilts her chin and brushes her lips against Cassie’s, savoring the acidic bite of whiskey and the faint flavor she was starting to recognize as just Cassie, and the thought shoots through her with a solid certainty that this is the last time it will happen. 

“I think I''ll figure it out.” It’s almost a whisper and she wonders as she walks out of the condo if Cassie catches the second meaning, if she even cares if she does. It doesn't seem to matter now, and she's still kinda reeling at the realization that this one bizarre event has completely changed her perspective. She's ready for a bubble bath and some of Lady Hummel's prissy wine, and maybe a few minutes to figure out what the fuck is going on in her heart. 

"See you at home." She calls it over her shoulder before closing the door, hoping Rachel doesn't take it as rejection but unwilling to have even one more intimacy between them be shared with Cassie's sneering judgment. 

The air outside is crisp and frosty, stinging her cheeks and making the sweat at her nape chill against her skin. Santana takes a deep breath, letting the ache of the cold air swell in her lungs, and feels a lightness she didn't expect lift her feet toward the subway. 

It's a little while later on the ride, when Santana's trying to decide if the dude across from her to the left is sleeping or dead (stench is leaning toward dead, but in New York that's not a guarantee), that a warm body cuddles itself into her right side on the seat. Santana turns with the instinct to strike because fuck _that_ in the middle of the night on the subway, before she's engulfed in Rachel's scent. 

"Hi." 

Rachel curls herself under Santana's arm, tugging it down around her shoulder and sighing contentedly. 

"So tell me how long you've been thinking about me as ' _off limits_.'" 


End file.
